


Living With Ghosts

by expelled_sleep_demon



Category: Batman (Comics)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Ghosts
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-21
Updated: 2020-09-26
Packaged: 2021-03-07 23:21:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,819
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26575936
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/expelled_sleep_demon/pseuds/expelled_sleep_demon
Summary: Bruce Wayne and his son, Jason Todd, visit the sites of hauntings recreationally. After an accident involving his son, he throws himself into ghost hunting in an attempt to piece together what happened. As a result, he lands himself in a haunted house. The only problem is, the house is nothing like anything he's experienced before.
Kudos: 19





	1. New Construction

Bruce’s parents were murdered when he was a child, and one night every week, he would watch his parents get ready to go to the movies. For most children his age, it would have been traumatizing or at least saddening; Bruce loved it. He looked forward to seeing his parents. There was a time where he anticipated their haunting, prioritizing it over everything else, and then he met his first son.  
  
Bruce’s son was an orphan just like him, without the gift of a haunting by the ones he loved most. His son, Dick, never really understood his love for hauntings, and in the end, it drove a bit of a wedge between the two. Bruce had to admit that Dick was never meant to be like him. Soon, his son grew up and moved on with his life. He went to live his life among the living.  
  
For a while, Bruce was alone until he met his second son, Jason. Jason lived in an abandoned apartment building haunted by ghosts that would make anyone's hair stand on end, but not his son. Jason was not afraid of being haunted. He saw it as a regular part of his everyday life. He was reluctant to go with Bruce at first until one night, Bruce came to check in on him. Jason stood out in front with a cut on his face and tears in his eyes. They never talked about it, but from that moment on, Jason went on to live with Bruce.  
  
For a long time, Bruce was content with the living company he had, so much so, he stopped going on his expeditions. Jason was different from him. He seemed to sense a haunting; he seemed to crave a haunting. It was as if Jason felt out of place among the living. He was so incredibly connected to the houses and their spirit occupants. Bruce enjoyed seeing the look on his face when a specter of some sort passed through. It was something they both loved doing together. For Bruce, it became less about the experiences of the dead and more about the happiness of the living.  
  
After a while, he started to notice that Jason was changing. Sometimes during their trips, Bruce would find Jason standing in the dark, expressionless and pale, with tears streaming down his cheeks. Bruce tried to explain to Jason that they no longer had to visit haunted houses anymore, but Jason refused to stay away. So Bruce tried to make Jason keep a journal, he shared a room with him on their trips, Bruce watched his every move, but it failed to make a difference in the end. After what happened to Jason, Bruce stopped taking people with him to haunting sites. He never knew for sure what happened to Jason. All he knew was that the best way to prevent anything else from happening to anyone else was to continue on alone.  
  
Bruce carried the haunting-site journal Jason made on every trip. Sometimes he would open it just to read the names Jason gave the houses. He would give them names like the Scarecrow House, the Laughing House, the Burning Place, and their last haunting site together, the Un-Haunted Place. Bruce never got the chance to find out why Jason named the final place they went to together, the Un-Haunted Place. He honestly had no memory of ever taking Jason to a site before the accident. He had no memory of anything surrounding what happened to Jason.  
  
Bruce often pushed the thought to the back of his mind, trying to remind himself that there was no way to change things. The journal was an anchor for Bruce, even inspiring him to make one of his own. Bruce had been to quite a few hauntings since then. Nothing ever excited him the same as when he and Jason went together.  
  
Something about this new house seemed to pique his interest. To any other paranormal writer, a newly constructed home would mean absolutely nothing. To Bruce, this haunting was a puzzle. This house was unlike the dark victorian mansions or the tattered Tudor houses holding the souls of the forgotten captive.  
  
No, this house was inviting, a lovely little sage-colored abode with a sizable second-story window overlooking the street. The front walk was covered in leaves, and so was the raised porch. Bruce kicked through the leaves on the front porch, stopping only to stand at the wine-colored door for a moment in contemplation. He reached in his pocket and pulled out a single key. Bruce had forgotten to put it on the keychain with his own keys before leaving home. He unlocked the door and stepped inside, slipping off his shoes and walking towards the sky blue fabric couch and gold-lined glass coffee table. Bruce took off his backpack, resting it on the floor next to the couch before returning outside and walking to his car. He popped his trunk, pulled out his suitcase, and rolled it back into the house.  
  
He turned to go inside his backpack before his phone started ringing. Bruce answered with a calm, "Hello."  
  
"See anything spooky yet," Tim asked, half sarcastic in tone.  
  
"I just got here, so no... Nothing _spooky _," Bruce replied.  
  
"No way this place is haunted. New construction and the family only lived there for two months," Tim asked, raising his voice an octave. Bruce sat on the couch, unzipping his backpack and pulling out a tape recorder, leaving it on the table. Bruce lay back for a moment, closing his eyes. A sick feeling washed over him, making his stomach turn, and his blood runs cold. Feeling as if something loomed over him, he leaned forward, taking a breath, only to lean back once more and open his eyes. He turned around to find that nothing was there.  
  
"Bruce," Tim asked, interrupting Bruce's thoughts.  
  
"Sorry, you said something," Bruce asked.  
  
Tim made a soft noise over the phone before repeating himself, "I said you should probably get some sleep before it gets dark out. Hauntings don't happen in the daylight."  
  
Bruce nodded as he whispered, "I think I'll do that." Bruce hung up his phone, taking his rolling suitcase with him as he left the room, opening the doors in the hallway until he found the main bedroom. He opened his luggage, taking his toiletries and pajamas out, and placing them on the bed.  
  
__


	2. Haunted

Bruce turned over in the bed to check the time. 10:13 p.m. He sat up and rubbed his face, grabbing his toothbrush cup and making his way to the bathroom. The house was silent. That was normal for the first night on site of a haunting. He brushed his teeth, careful not to look into the mirror, and washed his face. Once he was done, he walked down the hall and into the living room to look over Jason's journal.

He smiled to himself as he held the journal in his hands, remembering the look on Jason's face the day he gave it to him. Bruce never told Jason why he gave him the notebook. It ended up being to both of their benefits, being that sometimes Jason would write and share things that changed Bruce's perceptions on the hauntings. One experience Bruce looked back on fondly. There was a little cottage just outside of Gotham, and things were slow. It was the longest time Bruce had stayed in a house without experiencing a haunting, and he was getting ready to pack things up and go home. Jason was the reason he stayed. Jason climbed into the attic crawlspace to prove to Bruce that the house was haunted.

He remembered how Jason shrieked, followed by a fit of laughter after he spotted a phantom girl crouching in the crawlspace. After he helped Jason down from the attic, they ate, and Jason said something that Bruce took with him to every house since then. Bruce even remembered the look on Jason's face when Jason said it. Jason had a wild look in his eye and a big crooked grin on his face when he said, "Ghosts are people. People that we forgot, but when we see them, and they see us, we remember," and then he paused. "Do you think ghosts remember the people they haunt?"

Bruce couldn't remember how he answered Jason or if he answered Jason that day. He did, however, remember to take that into consideration when dealing with hauntings. Sometimes, he imagined Jason saying that when he seemed ready to leave a haunting that he believed to be fruitless.

He put Jason's journal to the side and let out a deep sigh. His phone rang, and he let it go to voicemail. It wasn't that he didn't want to talk. Bruce just didn't want to explain why he was there, and he didn't want to lie. He waited to hear the phone beep before he checked the voicemail. Dick's voice rang loud and clear. He sounded upset as he spoke, "What are you doing back there, Bruce? You can't undo this, you can't just go and fix-." His voice broke. "Bruce, it's been years. I know I'm not him, but maybe it'd be easier if you just talked to someone." Dick took a deep breath and let out a laugh. "Who am I kidding? You don't talk. You don't talk about anything, you just pretend nothing's wrong. Well, I won't sit around here and pretend nothing's wrong, Bruce." The voicemail ended, and Bruce saved it.

He was never good at being what Dick wanted him to be. Despite that hard truth, Bruce made it a point never to lie to Dick. To avoid lying, he sometimes shut Dick out. Bruce pinched the bridge of his nose. Bruce hated having to ignore Dick. It wasn't easy to explain why he was visiting the site of a haunting in the same city he was in when Jason was in the accident. He turned on the tv and sat there for a while, staring at the home improvement channel.

He waited for signs of a haunting, but something told him things would be quiet that night. So, he got up and got dressed, grabbing his keys. Locking the door behind him, he could hear the faintest sound of a cry. He looked around, trying to see where it was coming from, but he ultimately decided to get in his car.

He turned on the radio, and all he got was static for several stations. The farther he turned the knob, the clearer the sound underneath the static became. He did this until he could make out a faint crying noise. He drove away, letting the noise grow softer and softer until only the static remained. He pushed on until he found a little rundown drive-thru restaurant, a small faded blue building. A man's voice sounded through the receiver, "Welcome to Waylon's Fish Fry. Can I take your order?"

"Uh... Yeah, I would um... Shrimp and fries," Bruce answered as he stared at the lit-up menu.

"Butterfly or jumbo shrimp?"

"Butterfly, please," Bruce replied.

"Would ya like a drink?"

"I think I'll try the coffee milk," Bruce answered.

"Fifteen even at the window." Bruce drove up to the window and met eyes with the man at the window. A feeling of dread washed over him. "Somethin' wrong," whispered the man, before pulling his sleeves down.

"I took my son to eat here a few years ago," Bruce mumbled as he pulled the money out of his wallet and handed it to the man in the window. Bruce then took his wallet and showed the man a picture of Jason. "Do you remember him?"

"I seen him twice that day. Once with you. The other time he was by himself," he answered before handing Bruce his food. "I told the police the same thing. I wouldn't hurt a child-."

"No, I don't think you hurt him. I just wanted to ask... What was he like the second time you saw him," Bruce asked. The man handed Bruce his drink.

"He was crying and talkin' to himself... I brought him some tea. It was cold out, and he tells me he was going back home soon," the man's eyes soften.

Bruce nodded and swallowed hard, "Did you see who he left with?"

"He left by himself. I watched him walk to the corner," he answered, pointing out the window. Bruce nodded and waited for a moment as the man closed his window and he left the man a tip.

He drove out to a parking lot across the street to eat. He tried to picture the day in his head. He remembered Jason, pale and a little green under the gills begging him to stay just a while longer. He remembered trying to get Jason to eat, but Jason hadn't had an appetite in days. Bruce took him back to the haunting site to pack and they had an argument. Jason hit him, and he couldn't remember anything after that. Bruce choked back tears at the thought of what happened to Jason as he ate, only stopping when he realized there was no food left in the bag. Bruce got out of the car and threw out the bag, before driving back to the house.

As he parked in the driveway, the radio static subsided, allowing Bruce to hear the faintest, "Help me," on the radio. He took his drink and unlocked the front door, making a beeline to the couch and he took note of what he heard and what time he heard it. He waited the whole night for another sign. He finished his drink and his eyelids grew heavier and heavier until he fell asleep.


	3. Haunted Dreams

Bruce's memories haunted his dreams. He remembered Dick coming to the hospital in a rage. Bruce remembered how Dick stormed down the hall, and without a word, shoved him into the wall, and started screaming. "Do you know how I found out," Dick yelled. Bruce turned his head. "Do you know how I found out, Bruce?"

"Dick, don't do this," Bruce whispered. Dick let go, and his nose twitched as he turned his back to Bruce.

"I found out online. You never once thought to call me," Dick's voice broke.

"I didn't know if you'd come," Bruce whispered, "And I didn't know what to say." Dick turned to him and nodded, swallowing Bruce's words with his fists clenched at his side.

"You didn't know if I'd come? That's my brother," Dick raised his voice once more, "That's my little brother, and no, I may not always be nice to him. I know that, but I do care about what happens to him."

"I don't wanna argue with you, Dick," Bruce mumbled.

"No... You don't want to speak to me, Bruce," Dick replied, stepping back.

"I don't think there's a difference anymore-."

"Don't put this on me. I feel like you've been trying to find new ways to punish me for moving on with my life. First, you adopt Jason without telling me, then you expect me to get used to him," Dick took a breath, "And instead of working on resolving things with me-."

"Me adopting Jason wasn't about you-."

"Whatever Bruce, I'm gonna go get coffee," Dick mumbled as he got up and left Bruce by himself. Bruce leaned his head back and started to cry.

The nurse came and told Bruce that after several weeks, he was no longer in a coma. He nodded, going in alone. Jason lay on his back, his eyes open, and expressionless.

The nurse tried to explain something to Bruce. He needed to hold his son. When Bruce embraced Jason, he didn't move. He didn't even make a noise. It was like Bruce was hugging a corpse. Bruce let go and looked Jason in the eyes as he fell back in the bed. "Jason, I know I wasn't there for you, but-."

"Mr. Wayne, that's what I've been trying to tell you. He's in a vegetative state," the nurse explained, before continuing to explain what that meant. Bruce looked at Jason and tried to follow the words as Dick came in.

"What's wrong?"

"Dick, maybe this would be a good time to talk-."

"No, it'd be a good time to tell me how Jason's doing," Dick interrupted. He looked at Jason and walked over to his hospital bed, reaching out to touch Jason's shoulder, and Bruce watched the nurse explain things all over again. Dick nodded, seeming to take things a little better than Bruce, and he sat down by Jason's bedside.

Bruce couldn't remember much after that. Each day seemed to blend into one another until he was able to take Jason home. Even then, it wasn't like much changed. He still spent every moment by Jason's side, making sure that no one could hurt him ever again. Sometimes Jason's lips would twitch into a smile, or he would cry when something was painful. Bruce never imagined that Jason would be that way for three years. Bruce never imagined that he would get an e-mail detailing a haunting just a mile away from where they found Jason collapsed on the side of the road. It was as if part of Jason was still missing.

There were times where things seemed easy for Bruce, but when it was easy, that's when everyone around him worried most. Bruce remembered something Dick told him right before he left for Vermont. He remembered the sting of the words vividly. "You expect so much from Jason, why can't you just accept that this is how he is now?"

Everyone in Bruce's life probably thought the same thing as Dick at one time or another, but it always took Dick to say the things Bruce didn't want to hear. Despite how sensible Dick's words were, Bruce knew somehow that if he could piece together those missing hours and find out what happened, he could put Jason back together. That's why Bruce left.

He could only remember bits and pieces of their stay there. He could recall the argument they had, and how fervently Jason had begged to stay at the haunting site just a little while longer. "Bruce, you don't understand! I have to do something here-."

"Jason, you're gonna have to explain it a little better than that-."

"You didn't explain to me why you want to leave a whole week early," Jason asserted. Bruce grabbed Jason's arm, and Jason recoiled. "Don't touch me!"

"Jason, you're not eating, you're not sleeping, and this morning I saw you, staring into the furnace," Bruce yelled. Jason sat on the couch, hugging his knees as Bruce paced in front of him.

"I saw something... It's not like I was gonna hurt myself," Jason mumbled, "And I'm not hungry."

"If that's the case, you haven't been hungry for the past three days-."

"Fine! I'll eat something, I'll eat whatever you want me to eat! Are we good now? Can we stay," Jason yelled, and Bruce shot him a look. Jason lunged forward at Bruce.

"Why can't you tell me what's going on? You used to tell me everything," Bruce whispered.

"If we can stay just one more week, I promise I'll make sense of all of this. Don't you trust me, Bruce? I wanna tell you, but I can't... Not now. You do believe me, don't you," Jason asked. Bruce looked away from Jason, and he went upstairs to start packing their bags. Jason hopped up from the couch and ran upstairs after him.

"Jason, you're not yourself. I don't wanna discuss this anymore-." Jason grabbed Bruce's arm in an attempt to stop him.

"You don't know what you're doing. Bruce, please! I'm sorry! I'll eat, I'll go to bed, I'll do whatever you want me to do," Jason pleaded, "Bruce, please!"

Bruce turned around, and Jason recoiled. "I don't wanna discuss this with you anymore! We're going home!" Jason stood there across from Bruce, looking up at him with tears in his eyes.

"You don't see what I can! You can go, but I'm staying right here!"

"You're not staying here. I don't care if I have to carry you to the car-."

"Don't touch me! You can't just pick me up and force me to go home," Jason yelled, tears streaming down his cheeks. Bruce couldn't look at Jason. It wasn't like he wanted to hurt Jason. Bruce just didn't know what else to do. He carried Jason's bag down the stairs, and Jason ran into him, pushing him down the stairs. Bruce toppled down, losing consciousness. When he woke up, Jason was gone.

Those memories haunted his dreams more than he'd like to admit. If he had just listened to his son, maybe he'd be okay. He never would've upset Jason the way he did if he knew that was the last conversation they'd ever have. He would've stayed the extra week and kept a closer eye on Jason if it would've meant that he could have his son back. All he wanted to do was turn back time and change the way he handled things. Same with Dick. If he could've changed anything to make his sons happier, to keep them closer, he would have.


	4. Memory Lane

The couch slid across the room, hitting the wall, and startling Bruce awake. As he tried to slow down the beating of his heart, a child laughed somewhere nearby. Bruce took two deep, shaky breaths and picked up his phone. Bruce missed eight calls and several more texts. He called Tim, and it only rang once before Tim answered, "Bruce?"

"Did something happen," Bruce asked. Tim took a breath.

"Yeah, something happened. You ignored all my calls," Tim answered sternly.

Bruce stretched his arms and legs, "No, I wasn't ignoring you. I was asleep... I fell asleep." He stood up and took a picture of the couch. "I need to put the cameras up."

"Bruce, you're telling me you've been asleep since the last time I called," Tim asked. Bruce yawned, running his hand down his face.

"No, I went out to eat at ten the other night and went to sleep about midnight," Bruce answered.

"That was eighteen hours ago. It's almost seven p.m., Bruce," Tim mumbled, "Do you need me to come there?"

"If you're not too busy... Actually, can you bring a few more of those cameras for the rooms when you come," Bruce asked.

"Yeah, I can bring 'em... Bruce? I talked to Dick, and he said this is the town you and Jason were in when-."

"It is that town. I don't feel like arguing with Dick right now," Bruce interrupted, "And I don't really wanna talk about this."

"Okay. I'll see you in a few hours," Tim mumbled, hanging up the phone. Bruce stared at the couch for a long time, chuckling to himself.

"You've got my attention," Bruce whispered. He looked at the table, noticing something out of place. The tape recorder sat on top of his journal instead of where Bruce remembered placing it.

He pressed play. He could hear himself snoring, but he heard something else, something strange. He heard static. He fast-forwarded until he could hear himself talking in his sleep. "I can't find him." A child started crying in the background. "We're visiting here, he doesn't know the area." The cries in the background grew louder. "I don't know where he would go." The sobs turned to screams, and Bruce paused the tape.

Tears fell from his eyes. Those were the same words he said in the 9-1-1 call that night when Jason ran away. The same panic he felt that night rose in his throat, and he couldn't breathe. Bruce grabbed his journal and wrote down one sentence, before violently crossing it out. He went to the main bedroom and showered and changed clothes. The crying started again, and Bruce ignored it, grabbing another snack from his bag.

Tim called Bruce's phone, and Bruce answered after letting it ring twice. "Hey, Tim."

"I know you don't wanna talk about it, but since I'm on my way up there... Why did you go back to Ludlow," Tim asked. Bruce swallowed hard, waiting for Tim to finish asking his questions. "Are you trying to remember what happened?"

"Who says I can't remember," Bruce asked defensively at first, and then he sighed. "No... You're right. I didn't plan to try and remember anything about that night when I came here at first but being here... It's so hard not to think about-." The coffee table slid into the wall and shattered the glass.

"Bruce?"

"I'm okay. The coffee table hit the wall," Bruce explained calmly.

"That doesn't sound-." The call disconnected, and Bruce walked to the hallway, opening the closet to look for the broom. The tape recorder clicked in the background, and he could hear the tape rolling in the living room.

"Left me," the voice screeched beneath the static, "Here! Left me here! Left me!" Bruce decided to ignore the voice on the tape, choosing instead to sweep up the glass from the shattered coffee table. The crying sound grew louder, forcing Bruce to remember that something or someone was there.

He didn't react to it. Instead, he kept sweeping. After he was done, he left the house again to go get food. His phone vibrated as he ate in the parking lot of the fish fry restaurant, and the man working there knocked on Bruce's car window. "Can I talk to you," the man asked. Bruce unlocked the car door and let him sit. "Mesi. I should probably start by tellin' you my name's Waylon."

"Nice to meet you, Waylon. I'm Bruce." Bruce reached out a hand to Waylon. Waylon hesitated a moment before shaking Bruce's hand.

"Tomorrow night is the third anniversary of that accident, and I've been thinking. What made your son run away that night," Waylon asked. Bruce frowned at the thought.

"He ran away because we had an argument. He wanted to stay here, but he was getting sick here. He wasn't eating, wasn't sleeping, he was hiding from me in that house," Bruce answered, "I just wanted my son back. So I started taking our bags to the car, and he shoved me, and I fell down the stairs. It wasn't his fault. I lost my footing." Bruce covered his face with his hands.

"And then he left?"

"I don't know when he left. I hit my head when I fell down the stairs. I was out cold. When I woke up, he was gone... Why?" Bruce looked over at him and narrowed his eyes.  
  
"Because he thought he killed you. I didn't tell the police everything that night. He talked to me a long time, long enough to finish his tea," Waylon whispered, "And he told me that he did something bad. Real bad. Thought he killed you... I offered to go ahead of him to see, but he said he wanted to be the one to check on you. I gave him my work number, that's why the police questioned me."

Bruce's phone rang. "Sorry, it's my other son." He answered his phone. "Tim?"

"You know how it takes six hours to get from Gotham to Vermont, right? Well, I started driving six-and-a-half hours ago-."

"Tim-."

"You weren't answering my calls," Tim tried to laugh through the words to soften the blow of his tone. "Plus, you've been acting weird since before you left."

Waylon got out of the car and said goodbye. "Tim, are you at the house by yourself right now?"

"Yeah, do you want me to wait for you?"

"Yeah, I'll meet you there," Bruce mumbled, "See you soon." Bruce hung up the phone and started driving towards the house. He got as far as the maple trees by the house before he began to sweat, and the radio started playing the 9-1-1 call. He pulled the car over.

“Sir, what is the emergency,” the dispatch woman asked, her tone flat and detached.

“My son, I woke up, and he’s gone. I can’t find him,” Bruce’s voice shook on the radio.

“Okay, sir, how old is your son?”

“He’s fifteen,” Bruce answered.

“Do you think he maybe he just ran away,” the woman asked.

“We're visiting here, he doesn't know the area… I don’t know where he would go,” Bruce’s voice broke, and he started crying.

“We’d suggest you wait twenty-four hours to see if he comes back-.” Bruce tried to change the station, but it only sounded like static. He stepped out of the car and ran a hand through his hair.

“Leave me alone! Leave me alone,” Bruce screamed at the top of his lungs, doubling over as he tears fell from his eyes. "Leave me alone!"


End file.
